


Out of Kilter

by FlutterFyre



Series: Symmetry [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blanket Permission, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just back from a mission gone awry, Bond's trying to find his balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Kilter

**Author's Note:**

> This started as celebratory ficlet for Equilibrium receiving 300 Kudos and somehow grew from there. Huge thanks to Mistflyer1102 for her honest review, mad beta skills, and advice as I wrapped this up.

It was three minutes past midnight and James stood in the hallway outside the Quartermaster’s personal flat. If pressed he could not have said why he was there. He had escaped from MI6 Medical not even two hours earlier, sutured, salved, and bandaged, with the sole intent of finding a drink – or three – and a bed, company optional. Alec was in Southeast Asia, so his company was out. James’ own flat was absent any warmth or human touch. And he was far too exhausted and on edge to be bothered with trying to charm or seduce an evening’s companion at some bar.

Indeed, James was far from convinced he was suitable company for _anyone_ given his current state of mind, so why was he here? It wasn’t like he even knew for certain whether the Quartermaster was home — all the lights in the flat had appeared to be off when he had stood on the street staring up at the second story flat’s windows a few minutes earlier. Given the Quartermaster’s age and established tendency to all but live at Q Branch, it was far more likely the flat was empty than that it contained a slumbering Quartermaster. So why was he here?

If the Quartermaster was all James sought, he doubtless would have been better served to have visited Q Branch before leaving Vauxhall. So why was he here?

“007?” For a moment, James thought he had imagined the familiar voice, the posh, public school tone coming from behind him. He turned too quickly and almost lost his balance due to the combination of adrenaline drop, fatigue, and pain meds.

Instantly Q was alongside him, long slender fingers gripping James’ upper arms, steadying him. “Why are you here?” the soft and soothing voice asked.

“Q.” James smiled and for a change it was not a calculated and seductive smirk but an open, genuine smile because this…this was why he was here.

Ever since things had gone balls-up in Tbilisi and Q had — again — pulled his injured arse out of the fire, James had been unable to get the sound of Q’s voice out of his head. The cool confidence guiding him, keeping James focused when he felt so tired from blood loss and worn out from stress that all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He still remembered the calm and steady reassurance Q projected over the comms as he guided James, dazed and injured, to the extraction rendezvous location while simultaneously taking advantage of every possible cyber weakness in the city to cause electronic — and occasionally physical — mayhem. 

With his voice alone, Q had grounded James even as hell flared all around him; it was something no other handler had ever done.

Q stared at James for a long moment, a quizzical wrinkle deep between his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you still be in Medical, 007?”

Without thinking about it, James raised an eyebrow and winked before answering in a sotto voice, “I got out.” The world swayed again and he wondered for just a moment if maybe he should have stayed put.

A brief head tilt accompanying a soft huff from Q indicated the boffin quite probably agreed with James’ silent self-assessment. One hand still firmly clasping Bond’s arm, Q stepped past him to unlock and open the door to his flat. James stumbled as Q guided him inside; Q’s surprisingly strong grasp the only reason James was still vertical.

“Jiminy Cricket, Bond,” Q grumbled as he manhandled James across a cosy and somewhat cluttered room to deposit him on an overstuffed sofa. James sank into the cushions watching as Q returned to close and lock the door before stopping in front of a what appeared to be a complicated security system keypad. Indeed it was reminiscent of the control panel outside Q’s office in Q Branch, complete with card reader and thumbprint scanner. 

After entering what James considered to be an extraordinarily long code, Q turned back to face James. “Clearly you are not in an appropriate state to be roaming London, 007. Why didn’t you stay put in Medical?”

He shouldn’t be here. James knew that, but every time he closed his eyes, he was once again in the midst of the chaos and carnage of Tbilisi. By rights he shouldn’t have made it out of that botched nightmare alive and the reason he had was currently standing above him, looking for answers.

Ordinarily post-mission James would be on the prowl for a pretty partner with whom to burn off the excess energy a successful mission spawned. This time – though his mission had technically been a success – James was so bruised and bloodied, sutured and singed, that all he wanted – all he needed – was to feel safe.

He shouldn’t want to be here. The argument could be made that few places in England were more secure than MI6 Medical, located deep in the heart of the Headquarters building at Vauxhall, but Medical felt cold and sterile and was filled with bloodsucking leeches with false smiles and pointed agendas. However for James, safety was found in in the confident, composed, and collected voice of his Quartermaster. Safety was embodied in the whipcord thin but surprisingly strong body of the man standing over him, evaluating him with emerald eyes, through a mess of dark fringe.

He was here. He was safe. James could finally relax. Q would watch over him as always. James stopped fighting the effects of the pain pills and let his eyelids fall closed. “Safe now,” he murmured as his head fell back against the cushions and darkness overtook him.

~~~~~

The soft clicking of a well-used keyboard drew James out of peaceful darkness and back to the present. He must have made a noise, because when he opened his eyes, Q was watching him from over the top of his laptop screen. “How do you feel, 007?” 

“James, please. Or Bond,” James croaked, his mouth dry and throat scratchy. “I’m not on a mission and this certainly isn’t MI6.”

Q nodded and grabbed a bottle of water from the coffee table, twisting to crack the seal and stretched from where he sat in his armchair to offer it to James. James reached out with his left arm, ignoring the twinges in his deltoid as he shifted into a seated position on the sofa to accept the plastic bottle.

Removing the bottle top, James chugged the water, relishing the cool liquid on the parched tissues of his mouth and throat. It seemed like forever since he’d last drunk anything.

Lowering the bottle, James scrubbed a hand over his face and wiped the excess liquid from his mouth and chin. “How long was I out?” 

“A couple of hours. It’s half two now. How do you feel?”

James crushed the empty water bottle, absently twisting the lid back on to seal the air out and keep the bottle crushed. Q pointed at a second bottle on the coffee table, but James just shook his head. Not yet.

“James? How do you feel?” Q’s voice had shifted into Quartermaster tone, demanding an immediate answer.

He considered lying until he saw in Q’s face that Q expected it. Remembering how Q had guided him to safety not twelve hours earlier, James decided he owed the other man the truth. After all, his quartermaster knew everything James had been through in Georgia. “I feel like I’ve been tied up, beaten, stabbed, and fricasseed.”

Q’s eyebrows rose at James’ honesty and then a sheepish expression crossed his face as he closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table. Scooting forward to perch on the edge of the cushion, elbows braced on his knees, Q leaned towards James. “Um…yeah…Bond…about the fricasseed part…”

“Don’t you dare apologise for getting me out of Tbilisi alive. Those explosions were brilliant and kept the agents, assassins, and authorities off my tail—”

“Bond, I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t. Look, I know I wasn’t moving quickly — Hell, I was barely moving at all after that ambush. I know how close they were when you took them out with that explosion — you had no choice. So my eyebrows got singed. I’m alive because of you and _that_ is _all_ that matters to me.” 

Q opened his mouth only to close it without speaking, opting instead to gnaw on his lower lip. James watched with unabashed interest, wondering just how said lip might taste. The mutual silence persisted, Q staring into space and James staring at Q until the younger man seemed to reach a decision. 

“Do you know what I am willing to do for my agents, Bond? For you?” The intensity in Q’s expression was almost overwhelming and, in Bond’s experience, normally reserved for the return of mission equipment, or the testing of new explosive devices. The teasing banter that frequently characterised their interactions was non-existent.

James maintained eye contact; he needed Q to understand that _he_ understood the Quartermaster’s absolute devotion to his agents in the field. Q had held the position of Quartermaster for less than a year, but it had been apparent since the Silva incident and most especially during this last mission in Georgia. “I know you will do anything in your power to bring me home.”

They stared at one another for several heartbeats before Q broke the silence. “I will, you know. It doesn’t matter what I have to do or who gets harmed, I _will_ bring you home.”

Something — it might have been Q’s facial expression or vocal inflection or maybe just the ghosts that haunted Q’s eyes — but something alerted James that maybe this vow was ex post facto with regards to what had happened in Tbilisi. “Q, what did you do?”

Q swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. His full lips pressed into a thin line, seemingly bloodless for the moment as he focused his gaze out the living room window as though the secrets of the universe might be found in the London darkness. Finally he nodded once, decisively, and redirected his attention to James.

“In order to slow down your pursuers and distract Georgian authorities, I took out a couple of major power substations, overloading transmission lines causing destruction and chaos on the electric grid. The damage to the infrastructure was greater than I intended and caused a cascade of issues across the region associated with the resulting power surges and outages.” He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “So far, at least seventeen deaths have been directly attributed to the ‘unidentified problems’ with the Tbilisi electric grid.”

“I killed seventeen innocent people. Unforeseeable collateral damage and unavoidable, but my decision and my responsibility all the same.” Q’s voice lacked all emotion; it was as though in taking ownership of his actions, Q had decided to divorce all emotional investment in the outcome.

James held himself perfectly still, remembering the first time innocents had died at his hands during a mission. The horror and the guilt he had felt despite the absolute necessity — the knowledge that there were _no other options_. And yet… He had not been able to let himself feel while it was happening and afterwards he refused to, opting to drown it all in a bottle of vodka with Alec rather than face it — neither of which was terribly helpful at the moment.

“I…I’ve killed before, Bond, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t an innocent before this by a long shot. The thing is — in the past the people I killed deserved to die. These were innocents — mostly people in hospitals — the sick, the elderly. A few were infants. I’m responsible for the deaths of _babies_!” Q’s voice broke as he looked at James for answers or absolution or something James didn’t know what and wasn’t quite certain he could provide anyway.

The role of therapist or Father Confessor was neither familiar nor comfortable, but James felt like he owed something to the incredibly brilliant young man who always equipped him with the best gadgets and weaponry — despite repeated grumbled warnings to the contrary each time James failed to bring something back post mission. His guardian in the field who always ensured James the best possible chance to return home, Q deserved whatever comfort James could offer.

James cleared his throat. “Q, you did what you had to — you had no choice.”

“Wrong.” Q’s mouth twisted in a pained grimace as he disagreed with James. “I _did_ have a choice, Bond, and faced with that choice again — even knowing the growing body count — I’d do it all again. I will do whatever it takes to bring you home, 007. No matter the cost.

“The question is – how is that any better than our enemies?”

Ignoring the pain screaming from traumatised nerve endings throughout his body despite the excellent painkillers provided by Medical, James slid off the sofa to crouch in front of Q, giving the younger man little choice but to look at him.

“Q, listen to me. The fact that you are even asking that question separates you from our enemies. I have no doubt you have a strong moral code that guides you. You are not a bad person for doing your job.”

Staring into hazel-tinged emerald eyes lined by lashes most women would kill to have, James willed the guilt he saw reflected there to fade. As the Quartermaster, Q so often looked after James and the other agents, but James couldn’t help but wonder who looked after Q?

Their faces were inches apart and James knew he was well inside of Q’s personal space, but the boffin hadn’t pulled away; indeed Q had not moved at all. In that moment, Q hardly even seemed to breathe. Without thinking, James reached up and brushed Q’s fringe away from his eyes, eliciting a soft gasp from Q’s parted lips. 

James tamped down the sudden urge to close the distance between them and capture that intriguing mouth with his own; the man before him was neither a mark nor a bed companion found in some bar. Q was his Quartermaster and currently in the midst of a crisis of conscience over the accidental death of innocents in the course of a mission — a situation James had become all too familiar with over the years. What Q needed from James was compassion and reassurance, not seduction.

“You save lives, Q. Not just mine or 006’s or Agent Able’s, but that of Jackie and Joe Random in Sutton. What you do matters. Sometimes when we do our jobs, people get hurt or die but we can’t beat ourselves up over it. It happens. And sooner or later it _will_ happen again.”

Slowly shaking his head, Q rasped, “How? How do you deal?”

The smirk James couldn’t stop was reflexive and more a condemnation of self than Q’s honest question. “What? You thought all the Scotch and the women were merely fun and frivolous ways I passed my time between missions?”

James snorted; he knew his coping mechanisms were less than ideal. “We all have our demons, Q. And we all have our own ways of dealing with them — some are uglier than others. You need to figure out what works for you. How well you deal will ultimately determine how long you survive as Quartermaster.”

Q’s jaw tensed and he took a deep breath letting it out in a sigh before unexpectedly lunging forward, closing the last few inches between them to smash his mouth against James’. Unprepared for the assault, James rocked back slightly before grabbing the chair arm to steady them as he suddenly found himself with an armful of frenzied Quartermaster. 

Nipping, licking and exploring, Q’s mouth moved hungrily over James’ which was equally busy acquainting James with the taste of Q. Two pairs of hands fumbled with shirt buttons, tugging fine woven material aside to reveal sensitive skin that required complete exploration. James’ callused fingers and palms roamed over Q’s torso and hips before settling on and squeezing Q’s pert arse. He dragged Q to the edge of the cushion until their groins were aligned and they could rut against one another, grunting and groaning at the heat and friction through their clothes.

James shifted up on his knees and positioned Q’s thighs around his hips, hoisting the slighter man off the chair so that he could back-crawl the metre or so to the sofa which James had decided would be more comfortable than the floor.

Breaking their kiss James gasped, nearly landing his arse on the floor when Q’s hand closed over the fresh sutures across James’ deltoid and his body reminded him just how injured he was. Behind his glasses, Q’s eyes widened dramatically and he tried to jerk away only to be halted by the death grip James had on his hips. In reaction, Q began to struggle, abrupt anxiety radiating from his frantic hand movements and nearly indistinct murmurs.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“Q. Q, it’s all right.” James released Q’s hips to first capture and still Q’s fluttering hands against James’ chest. Giving up hope of making it onto the sofa, James lowered them to the floor, before using his rough palms to frame Q’s face, leaning into Q to press their foreheads together and stare into Q’s eyes.

“Shh…there’s nothing to apologise for. You can hardly see through clothing to know the precise location of every injury I collected this time.” James huffed softly, “I suppose I could say that just means we should just get rid of our clothes; provided of course you are certain you want this. God knows I do.”

Q’s breath hitched and he nodded, scooting and shifting so that he was kneeling, straddling James’ lap. From this new position, Q was able to wriggle his hips back and forth, grinding his pelvis against James to demonstrate how hard he was. It was clear Q wanted this — wanted James. James’s cock throbbed in response.

James put his lips to Q’s ear and spoke, “Right now there is nothing I want more than to have you naked and spread out before me like Christmas dinner — all pale skin tinged pink with desire, unable to utter anything more than broken, breathy moans as you come apart beneath my hands and my mouth.”

A light nip on Q’s earlobe and James pulled back to look the flushed and trembling Quartermaster balanced on his knees across James’ lap. In the space of a minute, Q’s pupils had expanded until only a thin ring of green iris was visible.

“So, how does that sound to you?” James asked as casually as he could. It was never wise to let the other person know just how invested you were in their answer to your question. Not that Q was just _any_ other person, but some habits were too ingrained to readily discard.

“G-good. Good. That sounds—” Q stuttered to a stop and his pink tongue swept out to wet his lips. Somehow James felt himself get harder at the sight.

“Good?” James finished with a smile he knew was edging on predatory. He shoved Q’s shirt off his shoulders and halfway down his arms, not bothering to remove it entirely; Q could free his arms, or remain trapped as he chose.

“Yes, oh God, yes.” Q leaned back, exposing his throat and chest, leaving his wrists and forearms encased in his bunched up shirt, as he twisted the loose fabric to further bind himself. The shirt was going to be a loss but Q didn’t seem to care. It was as though Q wished to be helpless and at James’ mercy and bloody hell if blatant desire and the willingness to succumb to it weren’t an unbelievable turn on.

James tasted his way down the side of Q’s neck, enjoying his host’s shivers each time his teeth scraped across sensitive skin. Q gasped and moaned, squirming and bucking his hips, grinding against James. It was the most erotic lap dance James had ever experienced.

“Lube and condoms?” The question emerged as more of a growl as he tangled one hand in Q’s hair to guide his mouth back to James’ for another demanding kiss. He wasn’t sure if he’d rather they were close at hand or behind the closed door that he presumed lead to Q’s bedroom – one allowed for immediacy, while the other likely involved an actual bed.

Q’s answer was lost as James took advantage of the parted lips to lick inside Q’s mouth before sealing their mouths together, both tongues darting back and forth in mutual exploration. By the time they separated, both were gasping and James watched with interest as Q’s swept out to collect excess saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth.

Between pants, Q managed a single coherent word, “Bedroom.” 

James briefly considered trying to rise from the floor with Q in his arms before bowing to the current reality of his post-mission physical condition. If they wanted to continue what they had started — and James most assuredly did — he recognised his limitations. At the same time, Q looked positively edible with his arms still wrapped up in his shirt…

Using his hands to steady Q, James guided him to his feet and rose, abruptly spinning Q to face the closed door and grabbing the material binding the younger man’s arms to pull him against James’ front. In a low voice, lips so close they brushed skin, James finally was in the position to speak instructions directly into Q’s ear, “Lead the way, Quartermaster.”

Q shuddered and stepped around the furniture as he crossed to his bedroom door. James maintained a strong grip on the shirt he was using as a makeshift leash to tether him to the other man. When Q stopped in front of the door but made no effort to free his hands, James reached around, fingers dancing across the bare skin of Q’s torso teasing extra sensitive area below his navel, before finding and turning the doorknob, pushing the door open.

Hissing at the unexpected stimulation, Q leaned back into James, head turning, mouth seeking James for a wet, sloppy kiss. James indulged him, tongue exploring Q’s mouth much as he would soon explore Q’s body. His free hand drifted back up Q’s stomach and chest, pausing to tweak each nipple gently. He was pleased when Q arched in response, pushing his arse back against James’ very interested cock.

Ending the kiss by trailing his lips over Q’s jaw to his ear, James asked, “Do we need the light?”

A quick headshake and Q straightened, stepping forward again and leading them to the bed. Between the muted light from the living room and light filtering in through the window, James saw a relatively Spartan room. The only furniture was a large bed, a bedside table, and a tall dresser. Nothing on the floor, no clothes were strewn about, no papers or clutter anywhere. Indeed, was James not in here with Q, he would never have guessed this to be Q’s room. Q stopped quietly next to the neatly made bed. 

James released Q’s shirt, taking a few moments to detangle it from around Q’s arms and hands before tossing it aside and turning Q to face him once more. Leaning over, James fumbled for the switch before lighting the lamp sitting on the bedside table. Mission accomplished, James stood to face the other man once more, only to find Q was watching him with wide eyes and blown pupils, the tip of that delicious tongue swiping across full lips as he stared.

With brisk, efficient movements, James removed his clothes, toeing off his shoes and smirking as Q watched appreciatively while fumbling with the fasteners on his own flies. James knew he was once again in excellent physical shape — he had to be to survive as a Double O — but it was always nice to be the recipient of such a lust-filled gaze. He stepped forward and brushed Q’s hands away, taking over the task of undressing Q.

In seconds, Q was stepping out of the puddle his trousers had made around his ankles and he kicked this to one side to stand proudly in tented pants. Sliding his palm over the visible evidence of Q’s want, James curled his hand to maximise pressure and friction as he moved over its length, drawing a gasping moan out of the Quartermaster. 

“James—”

He met Q’s eyes, seeing the raw need and want he felt reflected there. “What is it, Q? Tell me what you want right now.”

“You. I want your hands and mouth on me. Your cock in me. I need you on me and inside me. I need to know I’m not a monster for the things I’ve done. The things I’m willing to do.”

“You’re not the monster here, Q.” James used his greater bulk to crowd Q, forcing the slighter man to sit on the bed and lie back. He crawled onto the bed and over Q and stopped, staring down at the younger man, studying him, looking for any reason to stop. Seeing none, James braced his elbows on either side of Q’s head and lowered himself, pressing their bare chests together as he sought to snog Q senseless.

It was easy to lose himself in the slick wet heat of Q’s mouth; the kid — no, he wasn’t a kid, not by a long shot — knew how to kiss. What James hadn’t expected was for Q to somehow execute a wrestling move that promptly reversed their positions and had Q hovering above James. Sharp teeth nipped at James’ lips before Q’s tongue rasped over the stubble beginning to shadow James’ jaw.

Heat coiled in James’ groin as Q sat up and undulated, pressing and sliding his still pants-clothed penis against James’ naked one. They groaned in unison, the sensation hot and increasingly damp as pre-come leaked and soaked the cotton between them.

“Q, condoms,” James gasped. The way things were escalating, he was starting think they would forget if he didn’t constantly remind them. “Where are the bloody condoms and lube?”

Grunting, Q reached towards the top drawer of the bedside table, dragging it open. His mouth never left James’ skin as he fumbled through the drawer before emitting a sound of joy. James glanced over and saw sealed box of condoms emerge — was the kid a virgin?

Q broke off the kiss to mutter, “Not a virgin, it’s just been a while,” and tossed the box on the bed before leaning over to actually look in the drawer for lube. Retrieving it, he proceeded to unscrew the cap and remove the seal, recapping it before he again looked at James. “Now, where were we…oh yeah,” Q leaned back down so that his lips were millimetres from James’. “I think we were right about here.” With that, James parted his lips and Q licked his way inside.

James allowed the younger man his fun for a few minutes before rolling them over and once more taking charge. He removed Q’s glasses and set them on the bedside table before wrestling the man’s pants off so they were both nude. “Scoot up,” he urged Q fully onto the bed, moving so that he was sitting on his heels at the foot of the bed, between the younger man’s legs. 

Raising himself on his elbows, Q watched as James lightly scraped the backs of his nails up the inside of Q’s thighs and lowered his head to swipe his tongue around the glans, causing Q to twitch and moan. Encouraged, James wrapped one hand around the shaft squeezing gently as he pursed his lips and pressed them to the crown, slowly opening his mouth over the meatus and sucking Q’s cock into his mouth. Pressing his tongue along the underside, James slid his mouth down until he felt the head nudge the back of his throat. He hummed and Q’s hips gave an aborted buck.

In appreciation of the younger man’s self-restraint, James slid his mouth up and down Q’s cock, humming the entire time.

“Oh God, James!” Q’s voice was strained and his hands fluttered between James’s shoulders and head before settling on the duvet where the clenched great handfuls of the bed clothes. Q’s hips jerked minutely as he struggled to control his reactions.

James pulled back, releasing Q with an audible sound and no small amount of saliva. Grinning lasciviously, he guided Q’s legs up towards his chest, revealing a flexibility that sent his imagination reeling with possibilities. James shifted his attention to Q’s testes, lapping and nuzzling each individually before sucking first one then both into his mouth, tonguing both and smothering a laugh when Q squirmed in response.

He lightly scraped his nails along Q’s perineum, teasing his way down to the tight muscles closing his anus. Releasing Q’s balls from his mouth, James tongue followed the path his fingers had taken, licking and teasing, until he finally blew hot breath over his goal watching the muscles twitch in response.

“James, James, James...” Q had taken to chanting James’ name, his voice going up at least one octave as James swiped his tongue across the puckered muscles before settling in to lave attention on them, relaxing the entrance to Q’s arse. With a deftness that proved his reputation as a silver-tongued devil was not just for talking, James soon had Q begging.

“Oh please… oh God… oh please… James!” 

Smiling smugly, James sat up and reached for the bottle of lube and poured a small amount in his palm, rubbing his hands to warm it before slowly pressing a single lube-coated finger inside Q, the muscles clenching around him. Dear lord, Q was tight. Slowly, James slid his finger in as far as he could before sliding back and repeating the motion.

Q keened. It was such a sweet and unexpected sound that James momentarily froze, staring at the expression of utter bliss on Q’s face. Entranced, James fumbled his free hand across the duvet, searching for the condoms Q had tossed on the bed earlier. _Where the bloody hell were they?_

As he added a second finger, Q’s breathing hitched and his eyes flew open, pinning James as Q gasped, “You. In me. Now!”

“Bossy little thing aren’t you?” James teased, smiling down at the man writing on his fingers.

Q tried to pull rank. “007, I am in your Quartermaster—”

James cut him off, laughing. “Not here you aren’t. Nice try though.”

Q’s eyes narrowed and his lower lip protruded. James wiggled his fingers and Q’s expression changed abruptly in reaction, pleading words replacing the imperious demand from before.

“Please, James! Just…” Q ended with a whimper as James removed his hand entirely, reaching for the lube once more.

A hopeful expression appeared on Q’s face. “Now?”

“Afraid not. I can’t seem to find the box of condoms.” James shrugged in apology. 

“Oh for crying out loud!” Q’s legs slammed into the mattress as he sat halfway up and looked around. James ducked reflexively as a foot flew past his head with centimetres to spare. His shoulder twinged but he ignored it as Q appeared ready to hit something — most probably James — in his frustration. “Oh.” His voice and expression turned sheepish as Q realised he had been lying on the now crushed box of condoms. He pulled the carton out and handed to James. “What about now?”

Accepting the box with a gracious, “Thank you,” James grinned maliciously and slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. You see, Q,” he continued, taking a moment to relube his hands. “You almost kicked me in the head just now.”

The colour drained from Q’s face at that announcement and he looked appropriately contrite. “Oops! Sorry?”

“Apology accepted, however I wasn’t finished playing, so…” Kneeling up, James pressed his cock against Q’s and wrapped a lube-slicked hand around them both, slowly sliding along the shafts as he squeezed them together.

For a moment, Q looked like he wanted to argue, and then the heat and pressure and slippery friction short circuited his brain and all he could utter was, “Nguh!”

James could well appreciate the sentiment as his own thoughts scattered as he took them both to the edge, the combined pressure of his hand and Q’s cock making coherent thought a distant memory. It wasn’t long before he was frantically trying to open the box of condoms with lube-slicked fingers and hands.

Leaning up, Q took the box from James. “Let me. At this rate, I’ll grow old before we finish this.”

James grunted and mock glared at the younger man. “I supposed that would make me dead then. I didn’t know you were into necrophilia, Q.”

Tearing the box open, Q looked like he wanted to throw it at James instead. Practicality took over however, as James was still steadily stroking both their cocks and, without a condom, nothing more would be happening. Pouting once again, Q pulled a strip of condoms from the now destroyed box. In what was clearly an effort at expediency, he tore open a packet and offered the condom to James.

With a smile and nod, James accepted the condom and released Q’s cock to sheath his own and reapply lube. “Now,” he announced as he folded Q’s legs into his chest and positioned himself.

Q closed his eyes in acknowledgement and sighed.

Sinking into Q was exquisite. He had known the other man would be tight — had felt it around his fingers — but the sensation of such constricting heat encasing every inch of his cock was indescribable. Balls deep inside Q, James paused and savoured the experience, watching sheer delight play across the other man’s face. Even once the urge hit to just move and let the glorious friction take them both away, James remained still, waiting.

Finally, Q extended his arms over his head to brace his palms against the headboard and proceeded to wriggle about, a look of intense concentration on his face as he squirmed on James’ cock.

James choked back a laugh at Q’s almost desperate antics and attempted to break Q’s focus by smoothing his hands along Q’s thighs — fronts, sides, and backs — not exactly touching the skin, but rather brushing ever so lightly over the soft hairs covering Q’s legs. Q’s immediate response was to close his eyes and relax, shivering at a touch that James knew fell just shy of tickling, instead enervating the nerve endings in the skin.

Then James stopped and brilliant green eyes flew open, glaring at James with disgruntlement. Q’s mouth opened to draw breath but James spoke first.

“Feeling a bit impatient, hmm?”

“James Bond, if you don’t stop teasing—” Q’s growl cut off.

“You’ll what? You are forgetting who is in charge here.” James grinned and drew back, almost pulling out of Q entirely, only to hiss when the other man tightened his arse around James, forcing the blood to flow towards the already engorged and highly sensitive glans.

“Oh, am I?” And the cocky attitude returned full force.

James snapped his hips forward, burying himself in Q’s heat once more. And with that, the desire to tease the Quartermaster and see just how far he could push Q was gone, replaced by the need to thrust into him, setting a steady pace. James took Q’s prick in his fist, noting there remained just enough lube to allow friction without irritation and decided to add more.

Q jerked and hissed as the cool lube landed, but James increased the speed of his movements, matching his hips to his hand, effectively distracting the younger man from further snark.

The tight heat and silky friction caused a coil of heat to build at the base of James’ spine and the need to thrust harder and faster, pounding Q into the bed, intensified. 

Q gave a sharp cry and came with a gasp across his stomach and James’ hand, his arse tightening reflexively at the same time.

Now James was the one chanting, “Q, Q, Q…Q!” He shouted as the tightly coiled tension released in a rush through his groin and into the man beneath him as his vision went white.

~~~~~

James woke, instantly alert and aware of his surroundings. Without opening his eyes, he knew he was alone – in Q’s bed if he remembered correctly. Images from the night before flooded his dopamine and sleep sated brain – Q may be young, but he was an incredibly inventive and amazingly flexible bed partner. Even with all his prior experience, James had a new appreciation for slim and supple men when it came to sex. He had fallen into an exhausted slumber after the first round but had woken a few hours later to find Q was just as eager for more. 

By the third round, just after six that morning, James was willing to acknowledge that he could easily become addicted. It wasn’t often sexual encounters lead to him both fucking and being fucked but damned if his young boffin wasn’t delightful on both sides.

 _And when did he start thinking of Q as_ his _?_ The thought hit James like a bucket of ice water and he opened his eyes. Tossing the bedclothes aside, he winced as the sutures in his shoulder pulled. It was a wonder he hadn’t torn any the night before, but between the pain meds and amazing sex, he had forgotten about them, as well as the rest of his aches and pains from Georgia. Slightly stiff from the events of both the previous day and night, James gathered his clothes and dressed. He was buttoning his cuffs as he opened the door to find Q perched on a chair in front of his laptop at the table/desk near the kitchen.

“Good morning, James. Coffee is in the kitchen. I trust you slept well?” Q greeted him with a playful grin.

“What little sleep I actually got, yeah.” James smiled broadly at his host and went to the kitchen where he found a pot of fragrant coffee on the warmer. He poured a cup, eschewing the sugar bowl sitting nearby. A cautious sip to test the temperature and his eyebrows rose in surprise. For a tea sipper, Q brewed excellent coffee. “You certainly know how to take care of your agents, Quartermaster. First, last night and excellent coffee now. A full service bed and breakfast.”

He saw Q’s back stiffen and realised how his teasing appreciation for Q taking him in the night before had sounded. Damn it. “Q, about last night—” James started to explain, only to be interrupted.

“Look, Bond…” Q’s cheeky grin had faded and he began to pace the living room, his slightly stilted gait betraying their activities from the night before. Though he glanced several times in James’ direction, not once would he meet James’ eyes. Stress radiated from the man as he completed two full circuits before he continued to speak. “I understand how it is when you complete a mission — there’s the adrenaline from the mission and euphoria from its success and you have an urge to expend all that pent up energy so you find a partner for the night or weekend or whatever. It’s all good.

“I had a great time last night — so thanks for that. You needn’t worry about it affecting my ability to work with you and support you in the field, so—” 

James had heard enough and he spoke up, interrupting Q. “Let’s start with this: I _did not_ come over here last night to _seduce and fuck_ my Quartermaster for post-mission jollies. I didn’t _plan_ to come over here at all.” His voice was harsh with bitterness at having been so categorised. It didn’t help that Q’s assessment of most of Bond's post-mission sexual encounters was spot on.

“So why did you? Clearly you were looking for me; there’s no other reason for you to be at my flat at midnight. If all you wanted was my scintillating company, why didn’t you seek me out earlier at Q Branch?” Q was getting riled, a flush spreading across his face.

“It wasn’t your ‘scintillating company’ I was looking for.”

Exasperated, Q stalked over to where James stood, finally standing eye to eye, glaring. “Then what did you want?”

“I just…I needed to feel safe.” James stared at the wall, feeling weak at the admission. How could he possibly explain the instinctive need that had guided him to Q’s door?

“What?” Q looked at him as though James had suddenly grown an extra head. Given that Q was a boffin and James a Double O agent, he supposed that reaction wasn’t surprising — how could a computer nerd possibly offer safety to a highly trained assassin?

“I was exhausted and injured and felt vulnerable. I needed to feel safe and Alec is out of country,” James paused unsure how Q would react to his next words. “Like I said last night, when I am in the field, I know beyond a doubt that you will do anything in your power to protect me and bring me home. I think that subconscious understanding fed an instinct associating you with safety when my less rational instincts are triggered.

“Yesterday, they were seriously triggered. I was not even thinking when I left Medical; all I knew was that I had to get out. Then I realised Alec was gone so his flat was out — well, I still could have gone there, but without him home, there was no sense of safety — it was no better than going home to my empty flat. As I said, I was not exactly thinking rationally.”

“Had you been able to enter my flat, would you have felt safe even if I had not been home? After all, I work long hours, even overnight when the mission requires my support at odd hours.” There was an oddly intense look in Q’s eyes.

James thought for a moment before answering. “Yesterday, I might have answered no, but now I’ve seen your security system. I’ve spent the night here; I know the sounds and smells and how it looks in the dark.” _And after last night, I very much associate this flat with you._ But he didn’t say that last part.

A sharp nod caused Q’s fringe to bounce. “All right then. Come here.” Q crossed to a built in workbench that occupied fully half of one wall in the living room and stopped before a wall-mounted screen, pulling out a keyboard tray and typing with blinding speed. By the time James stopped behind him, Q had already flashed through four screens and had paused. “You’ll need a passcode… I know.” He typed a complicated set of numbers twice and then grabbed a nearby pen and post-it notepad, tearing off the top sheet before scribbling the numbers down and handing it to James.

“Don’t lose that — better yet, memorise the numbers and burn it.” Q’s voice brooked no argument; he was in full Quartermaster mode.

“What?” James accepted the paper and stared bewilderedly down at the neatly printed numbers, _253217692708437_.

“Should you forget it, the key is ‘Alec is my brother’ no spaces, convert the ‘E’, ‘I’ and ‘O’ to ‘3’, ‘1’, and ‘0’ respectively, and then convert all remaining letters to the corresponding numbers on a phone keypad. Give me your left hand.”

Automatically, James extended his left hand; he was confused. _What was Q doing?_ Taking charge of James hand, Q manipulated the digits so that his thumb was extended and pressed the pad against a glass reader.

Releasing James hand, Q made a final demand, “Your Universal Exports ID please?”

James handed it over without a word, tucking the paper with the passcode into his wallet with the pound notes. He was pretty sure he now understood what was happening. After scanning the data matrix barcode on the back, Q finished typing and handing the card back to James with a satisfied expression. “There.”

Returning the card to his wallet, James asked. “Mind explaining why you just added me to your flat’s security system?”

A pleased smile broke over Q’s face at James’ question. “Good, you understand.”

“No, I really don’t. Why?” Was Q implying he wanted a repeat of the previous night’s sex? If so, James had no objections, he just hoped the kid wasn’t expecting a relationship, because great sex or no, there was no way James could be monogamous when he regularly used sex as a weapon for the Queen.

“You feel safe here,” Q referenced their earlier conversation.

“And?” James still was had no clue where this was going.

“I’m not always home.” Exasperation was beginning to creep into Q’s tone.

“Still not following.” James was feeling a similar annoyance; he wasn’t a bloody mind reader. What was Q getting at?

Q stared at James for a solid minute before taking off his glasses and closing his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before reopening them and meeting James’ gaze once more.

“Look, James, you are one of MI6’s best agents and I will always support you in the field in whatever way I am able. But, I think it’s rather clear from last night that the trust we have extends beyond missions. I’m not asking you for anything — I’m offering. When you return from missions and need to feel safe, you are welcome here, whether or not I am home.

“The sex was amazing, but I _am_ intelligent enough to know that sex does not equal relationship.” Q quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction and James smiled in response. “That said, while I may be open to a repeat performance should the circumstances arise, all I am offering here is a safe place for you should you need it.”

“Thank you. Your offer is accepted and appreciated, as is your honesty and directness — which is surprisingly refreshing in this business.” The tension in the air that had existed since James’ careless comments had evaporated. They were back on even footing and with the change the sense of security returned.

In so many ways, it felt like they had come full circle from the previous night’s conversation. Q would do anything for his agent. James trusted Q to do everything possible for him. The resulting trust was the perfect balance for success in the field and MI6 would say or do everything to encourage such a bond between a top level agent and his or her handler. But what about the repercussions between missions? Did they have any business attempting to forge a friendship between missions or would it compromise the vital professional mission relationship? James thought it was worth the risk.

“You are a fascinating man, Q. Clearly you have layers I did not expect. I greatly appreciate how you took care of me when I all but passed out at your door. Above all, I value you as my Quartermaster but I also count you a friend and hope we have the opportunity to build on that and know each other better.”

“I’d like that.” Q’s posture had resumed its relaxed nature from when James had emerged from the bedroom. He smiled and raised a hand to cup James’ stubble-ridden cheek. “Thank you, James. You helped me come to terms with the reality of what we sometimes have to do. I won’t say it makes me proud, but I’m pretty sure it won’t break me now.

“I thought I was doing you a favour letting you sleep off the pain meds and mission fatigue here, but it seems I was doing one for myself as well.”

James turned his head and pressed his lips against Q’s palm with a smile. “No reason we can’t help one another, Quartermaster.”

**Author's Note:**

> <3<3<3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little tale. If you did enjoy it, please leave a kudo or comment! Also, feel free to contact me as [kissofflame](http://kissofflame.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr!
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> I welcome podficcing of any of my stories with a request to let me know so I may squee over your efforts and a caveat that the work be linked back to my posted work. Many thanks and kind regards.


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